Thursday, August 9, 2018

Eliminating Homeless Camps

"Homeless camps are on the rise. 50% of encampments have 11-50 residents while 17% have 100+ people" (National Health Care for the Homeless Council).

You can't help but see them and once you do, it's like a bad wreck, you keep looking whenever you drive pass.

The one under the Truman Parkway receives the most attention because it's the most visible ... and it's wretched.

Religious banners and Port-a-lets?

Really?

City officials, the Georgia Department of Transportation, Chamber of Commerce, Business Community, Developers and the Faith Community express outrage, mobilize resources and fail to address the problems of public human squalor in a tourist town.

Religious zealots romanticize it while asking for funds!

Talk about a lovely lady with a dirty face!

Why are there homeless camps when shelters exists for people in need of a roof over their head?

The awful answer is homeless shelters are not designed to end homelessness. They are designed to manage it and for a couple of centuries they did that quite well.

Then homelessness changed but the shelter system didn't.

Shelters are predicated on rules, expectations of self-help, sobriety and mandatory religious expression.

The Salvation Army is a church before it's a shelter and if this point is pressed ... "Do you exist to help the homeless or to convert them" ... the answer is "save their souls."

The same is true for today's Union Mission.

"You never expect it to happen to you until it does," homeless people explain, for the thousandth time, most recently in the Savannah Morning News.

As tragic as it is, the last thing a homeless needs or wants is judgement, cookie-cut rules not applicable to reality, mandated morality and that the one answer is "Jesus."

They've already asked for Jesus' help and they're still homeless.

In response, they've developed a working viable alternative ... shelters without walls ... communities with few rules ... no judgement ... self medication is allowed ... and religion is what a person needs it to be without strict admonishment for lack of adherence.

The new approach is obviously working for the homeless.

Camps are growing like crazy.

The antiquated shelter system continues to demonstrate failure justifying itself with successful exceptions rather than the rule.

There is a solution though it's not an easy one.

It's not rocket science either.

The reason people are homeless is there is a lack of significant social relationships in their lives.

No family, church, best friend, AA Group, support system or, most importantly, health care network to prevent the fall into nothingness.

Current societal structures no longer weave a comprehensive tapestry of anything resembling a safety net.

What's the answer to the growing alternative developed by homeless people themselves, an obvious preferable alternative to Government and Religious responses?

Homeless camps exist because people are building significant social relationships where none exists.

They're helping themselves ... pulling themselves up by their own bootstraps ... and weaving together a tapestry where viable ones don't exist.

The obvious solution to the camps is to help them accomplish what they're doing without us.

The answer starts with health care going to where the sick live rather than demanding they come to the sterile environment Doctors, Nurses, Psychiatrists, Mental Health professionals mandate.

Health care has to move into the camps, becoming a permanent foundation and part of the community building already taking place.

Treatment of health care comes first so better decision making takes place as the community is built.

Physical, mental, domestic and societal health must be met first and the only way to do it is to become part of the community.

The Health Care Profession must reinvent itself by becoming part of, and no separate from, the community it serves.

It's not as radical as it sounds.

Doctors make house calls again ... only this time where in shelters without walls ... "house-less calls" with consistency and discipline the profession requires.

Street Medicine is already an international movement but, sadly one Savannah ... more importantly Chatham County who manages health for the community ... ignores.

Health care must become part of the community building, elevating it to a higher level, which is the ultimate purpose of the discipline in the first place.

The helping professions ... Social Work, Clergy, Teachers, Lawyers ... follow suit.

Jesus himself healed the sick first before other things follow and the community grows stronger as individuals grow healthier.

With the infusion of health, community building's foundation grows into a stronger base as the most basic of ills are addressed enabling stronger decision making and purpose.

Social work, clergy, teachers, lawyers expand the base of personal freedom through decision making empowerment.

The community continues to elevate.

In the ultimate of ironies, housing options come last.

It's only after the homeless person is strong enough in recovery of whatever the ails, has a strong enough support system in place, is capable of contemplating the management of housing, a most arduous task under the best of circumstances as things break, fall apart, neighborhood tensions mount, societal norms are enforced and Governmental regulation overwhelm.

The healthiest of persons has difficulty managing multiple systems simultaneously but one recovering from homelessness ... scared and failed by each helping discipline ... demand the appropriate supports to retain housing once established.

It is a long road to recover but ... not an impossible one.

Making what is real to a homeless person our reality, beginning with health care, followed by the other helping professions, last of which is housing ... is the road map to eliminating homeless camps.

Monday, July 23, 2018

Look At Me

Look at me.

I'm pastoring a Church ... in a Bar ... on an Island ... as part of a band ... without shoes ... pants ... pretense.

It's pretty much me.

"I yam what I yam," Popeye says.

"I am who I am," God explains to Moses (Exodus 3:14).

I should be more dignified at 62 years of age but God Damn I'm having a good time.

And there's nothing wrong with saying "God Damn."

"Thou Shalt Not Take the Lord's Name in vain" ... means don't call yourself a "Believer" ... a "Christian" if that's not who you really are.

God doesn't give a shit about cussing.

God does care who you are ... what you are ... how you are ... if you're happy ... and if you're taking full advantage of the gift of life you're given.

Mine's been a crazy gift but there's little question I'm still taking advantage of it ... with lots more plans for what's left.

Most pictures, we don't like ... 'cause we don't think we look good ... they're bad photos ... or we're a little shocked at ourselves.

But I like this one.

Tommy Hall's singing a song about shaking the dust off the Bible ... I'm playing with David and John on Dave Cahill's Cajon ... cause he's getting coffee in the middle of the service ... which is perfectly acceptable behavior in Bar Church ... and I'm trying to get out of the way so Tommy can sing ... Chip falls in with a lead guitar ... Gordo adds some Harp ... David slaps the bass strings ... John makes love to the skins on the Congas ... so I start to play drum.

Dave spies me as he sips coffee .. whips out his phone ... takes this picture ... sends me a text.

Church goes on and I'm caught up in it, as are several others, as Davy resumes playing drums and the music's elevated into a jam induced by the Holy Spirit so that even the tourists pause passing the open doors to Benny's to see what's happening.

Monty and I end up dancing as we play at the end ... Eric smiles and sings new verses to an old song ... people clap ... smile ... eat ... enjoy and celebrate.

I wish Sarah were here.

She enjoys me being me every bit as much as God does.

And at the Church in the Bar on Sunday, I'm certainly enjoying myself ... caught up in the Holy Spirt ... and Tommy Hall's song ... David bass ... Chip's lead guitar ... Gordo's Harmonicas ... John's skins.

Sometimes ... nowhere near enough ... but every now and then ... the Kingdom comes on Earth as it is in Heaven ... and you just can't get enough of that shit.

That's really what this picture is about.

It's worth way more than a thousand words.

Tuesday, July 10, 2018

A Morning Gift

On my birthday, I planned to take Che, an even earlier riser than her old man, to the Ocean for a swim as the sun rises.

Alas, the weather does not cooperate.

So this morning, after Breakfast Club coffee because they're up prepping to open and kind enough to let me in, my 20 month old daughter and I make our way to the Beach.

I want to let my wife, who is sweeter and kinder to me than anything I've ever known, sleep late without the squeals of a child or constant "pitter-patter" of tiny feet.

We arrive to God finger painting the sky glorious reds, pinks, purples, blues, blacks and whites ... soon whitewashed away by a fiery red sun bubbling out of the Sea.

Che grabs a gardening shovel from the stroller and writes her own note of thanks to God in some foreign language I do not understand.

Sipping coffee, warm waves break on my feet as I watch the Sun turn yellow, then bright white, casting millions of diamonds on the Ocean.

Che holds up both hands and I lift our baby wading into shoulder deep water.

Tapping the top of my head, she wants me to take off Sarah Elliott's baseball cap I'm wearing and sun glasses to hold her up while I go under.

Submerging, her laughter sinks to my ears. I hold her under the armpit with one hand and my cap and glasses in the other.

Coming up I spit salt water in her face and she laughs before cupping her lips on my chest and blowing air, which makes me laugh.

The Sun continues casting off the blankets of clouds it slept in, as we build a sand castle together.

She mimics my every move, occasionally interrupting construction to stare me directly in the eyes and intensely speak in tongues I do not understand.

Finished, she laughs, hysterically knocking the castle down, just before a wave washes it over.

Latching onto my finger she pulls me down to the sand ... just as her mother once did ... to sit in the surf.

Side by side, we watch people pass, walking or jogging, before she crawls in lap, tells me more things I don't comprehend, then covers my chest in wet sand.

Returning to the Ocean, we watch as an enormous school of Manheden splash atop the surface chased by other fish or plucked by Pelicans circling overhead.

It's a majestic and glorious thing to witness ... standing mere feet away from Dolphins slicing the Sea eating breakfast.

Lapsing into God's time, it could have been a minute or it may have been a thousand years, we are one with the world.

Pointing to the Beach signifying Che's ready for her Mommy so we make our way towards the crosswalk where she puts on her favorite shoes ... clogs that light when she walks, gifted by Marci Reiber ... she walks the entire seven short blocks to our house, taking her sweet time to appreciate and enjoy everything we pass.

Rocks in driveways, Palm fronds, discarded cigarette packs, American Flags planted to prevent parking in someone's yard capture her attention.

She plays hide-and-seek with me behind parked cars, street signs and bushes.

Jim Simmons rolls pass us on his bicycle but circles around to stop for a visit.

Che hides behind the Palm frond she's determined to carry home.

Forty-five minutes after beginning the journey, we arrive home.

"Did you enjoy that?" I ask, carrying her sandy wet body up the stairs.

"Yea, tea," she nods and smiles, pacifier in mouth.

Upstairs I change her, change me, turn on the coffee for Sarah, pour the Orange Juice and wait for the love of my life to meander up and join us.